Reality
by FlameAlchemist
Summary: A Quatre x Trowa A.U. fic...enjoy! Rated R for extremely disturbing imagery, not for the faint of heart. A story with actual plot, not mindless fluff!
1. Beginnings

And so here it is; the fanfic I've been promising myself and my friends to write for quite some time now. I hope you all enjoy it! It's an A.U. Quatre x Trowa, casting them as police officers on Earth, because Quatre's lovely and I want to put him in painful situations for my own amusement And I like writing stories like this. (It also features Duo as a fairly main character, for all you Duo lovers.) This is my first attempt at fan-fiction (but in no way my first attempt at fiction) and it's a shonen-ai, so make sure you know what that means before reading on. And so, on with all the 'fun'…

CHAPTER ONE

Quatre shuffled into the lift, his hair swinging in front of his eyes, smiling nervously at the sombre people that faced him inside. He watched as the ground floor of the giant building disappeared through the tiny window and saw floor by floor tick by, with each tiny glimpse of the frantic workers of the business heightening his fear and anticipation for what was to come at the top of his upward journey. He saw them all in freeze-frame; attractive young secretaries, ferrying backwards and forwards information to their toad-like bosses that he saw festering in their chairs, middle-aged men with firm expressions crunching numbers on computers, and interns and engineers in rows of cubicles sipping coffee as they tinkered with their models and formulæ. Working late, he thought. Strange.

He fretted, biting his nails and blowing his blond fringe away from his vision. He thought back to half an hour ago, sitting in his car and happily sipping the orange juice he brought in a flask from home. He was on neighbourhood watch; his favourite duty. You could simply sit and watch the world go by, safe in the knowledge that all the people that passed you were perfectly safe because you were watching them. That was why he joined the force – he loved the feeling of being the one that all could come to for asylum and refuge, of being the one that the people trusted to watch over them, of being an assurance in their minds that someone cared and someone wanted them to be healthy and happy. He also secretly adored the power of being able to shut away the wrong-doers. He loved to watch them try to lie, and to deconstruct their little petty arguments in a few choice words.

The evening was a quiet one, and he busied himself in watching a stray dog explore a bin, placing bets in his mind over whether the poor creature would find anything of use. He was considering calling an aide and getting the dog homed, and losing himself in a happy dream where the dog laughed and played with a young family who loved it, when the harsh, metallic rings of his car phone penetrated his thoughts and shook him back into the real world, the world in which no sane family would talk a flea-ridden old stray in, the world in which there was no aide to find the dog for him.

"H..hello?" he stuttered into the phone, still half-lost in his own world.

"Wake up, Weiner, for Christ's sake!" barked the voice on the other end.

"My name's Winner, please, sir."

"Fine. Look, Weiner, you ready for your first homicide?"

Quatre's mind jumped. Homicides were a big catch. If he succeeded in this, he was on his way to promotions, pay rises and advantages – which he really needed right now.

"Y-yes, s-sir. I mean…Of course sir. Give me the details".

"Be more sure of yourself, boy. Go to the Peacecraft tower and meet Lt. Barton on the 39th floor. He's there now with some more of the force and needs back up from someone with experience with colony liaisons. "

"Yes, sir. I'm fully trained in colony attitudes and law, sir.".

"God, I know. I trained you. Listen, don't worry about it, kid. It'll be fine."

"No sir. I won't worry, sir." came Quatre's pre-fabricated response.

And so now Quatre stood in the lift of the Peacecraft Tower, edging ever closer to his first glimpse of true death. He consoled himself in his mind, thinking of the rewards he would reap if this succeeded. He thought of Mary. She'd be fast asleep now, in that makeshift bed he carefully fabricated out of spare timber from Wufei's shed. He imagined her calm face, framed perfectly by the moonlight through the window, and spurred himself on to do his job and get what he needed to make Mary happy.

He looked around, to his left, right and behind, scrutinizing the people he shared the lift with. They stared at him back quizzically, prompting Quatre to turn bright red and stare back out the rectangular window. Got to stop doing that, he thought. This police business of checking everyone has made me into a voyeuristic fool in the minds of the public. As if respectable businessmen would be armed! He smiled to himself and checked his watch. The building was awfully big, and the lift was taking far too long. He hoped they weren't waiting for him. He drifted off into thoughts of this Lt. Barton. Probably an old, experienced man – been with the force for decades, most likely. He could learn a lot from him. Quatre straightened his tie and tucked in his shirt; can't look scruffy in front of the seniors. Mind you, he reflected, Duo always does and they love him.

Quatre was shook awake again by a soothing female voice. "Doors opening for the 39th floor. Please exit to your left." 39th! He stumbled past the men in suits, making sure he didn't trip on their briefcases, and stepped out into the 39th floor.

And so there it is. Please review and give your opinion! Obviously, there's gonna be much more to it than this. It seems this might turn out to be a long 'un… I got carried away being inside Quatre's head ; I hope it read well to you all anyway. More soon!


	2. The 39th Floor

I know it took a while, but here's the second chapter…please R&R!

CHAPTER 2

The room seemed to open up around him, and he froze for a second as he took in his cavernous surroundings. It was dimly lit, with only a few desk lamps and the torches of the group of people ahead to illuminate the gloom. The ceiling was hidden from view, and Quatre felt oppressed by the overpowering darkness around him. He mentally slapped himself, and shook back into concentration. He examined the cold, marble-tiled floor for any scrapes or smears leading into the lift, which was being sucked slowly upwards – perhaps the killer used it? But he found none, and his eyes swept the room for possible escape routes for the killer. He lost himself again in his imagination, dreaming up all the possible ways for a man to leave the room without a trace, his eyes glazed over and staring up into the blackened sky of the room. Then:

"Excuse me."

Quatre whipped round, shaking, his hands reaching into his shirt.

"Easy, easy!"

The man in front of him tensed , his hair waving backwards and forwards in front of his face, giving Quatre only glimpses of the face it concealed.

"This area is sealed off. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." came the clipped tones of the man. His shirt was buttoned tightly to his neck, and his trousers ran down his legs like drain pipes, stopping before the black, polished shoes on his feet.

"Oh, no! I'm the colony liaison. I'm supposed to be meeting with a Lt. Barton…Could you tell me where he is? If it's not too much trouble, that is."

The man in front of him visibly sighed, his head drooping. "You're the liaison? I was hoping for someone with a bit more…experience".

Quatre blushed in the darkness. "I know I'm young but I was top in my class for Colony Law and I hope I can be of use to you, please, sir."

"God. Drop the formalities, or this'll never work." muttered the man.

"Excuse me?" ventured Quatre.

"Lt. Barton, your partner for this evening and also your mentor. You have a name?"

"Quatre Winner, Ensign. Second Level. I hope you find me useful, sir" said Quatre, letting a bold tone slip into his voice as he stiffened his posture.

"Quatre. That name, it's…" Quatre braced himself.

"Feminine, isn't it? I suppose you must be popular with colony girls, they like that kind of thing. And you're wearing pink." Lt. Barton chuckled.

Quatre gritted his teeth. "Shall we continue?"

"Careful, I'm in charge here." Quatre suppressed the anger that rose in him and forced obedience into himself.

"Now, Quatre" said the lieutenant, a commanding tone replacing the biting tone of before, "The Chief says you're in need of some…experience. So you're doing the talking. I will merely stand beside you. When we are around the colony lawyers, we must give the impression that you are the officer in command. Don't forget that you aren't, though." He glanced back to the crowd in the centre of the room.

"If I see you getting…in a bit of a tricky situation, let's say, I will say 'Ah, this is my area of expertise.' And then I will take over, and you will be under my control in their eyes. We do not want this."

"Why?" inquired Quatre, his eyes trying to focus on those of his superiors.

"Let's just say that I'm not the man they're looking for right now."

"Aww, what is this? What the fuck do you think you are DOING?"

The shout echoed and bounced around the room, whipping the people within it and the objects within it into sharp focus in Quatre's eyes.

"Quick, follow me." Barton gripped tightly onto Quatre's wrist and pulled him forcefully into the direction of the crowd, like a father with a child, forcing him to quickly organize his thoughts once more. Barton was not how he imagined… He winced at the tight grip around his wrist, and yet felt something pleasant and calming rush through him, infiltrating to the very tips of his fingers and toes. They soon reached the crowd, and Barton pushed him in front, grabbing his waist and forcing him into a confident posture.

The man in black swooped around, like a lion, encaged in the barriers of yellow tape. He circled his prey: a table, long and elegant, with gleaming reflections from the torches of the crowd that seemed to be desperately trying to draw the attention away from the enemy of the table – a woman, in a long, silk black dress, lying like a child making sand angels, arms and legs pointing in four different directions. The pose was alluring and inviting, and some would have found it arousing if not for her left breast, pushed aside by a glimmering blade that lay on the table beside it, stained with red. The black lion, its braided mane swishing behind it, drew closer to his prey: a small, busy little man in a white coat, enquiring without a hint of disgust into the eyes of the woman which stared effortlessly up into the black ceiling above.

"What the FUCK do you think you are doing? THIS IS A GOD-DAMN CRIME SCENE!" screamed the braided man, pointing a furious finger at the little scientist.

"Duo…please…"

"SHUT UP, TROWA! I am FED UP with this fucking colony arrogance. Where's the fucking liaison? Lazy shit." yelled Duo, stomping around and searching with his eyes.

"Mr. Duo! I'm the liaison. What is the problem?"

"Maxwell! Mr. Fucking Maxwell to you. Can you not fucking see what the problem is?" screamed Duo, moving ever closer to Quatre's face.

"He's not usually like this, believe me…I think someone's tipped him over the edge. He's usually such a nice man…" whispered Trowa into Quatre's right ear, winking unseen in the darkness.

"Why don't you tell this pink-shirted fool here what the problem is yourself, my good man?" said Duo with falsetto calmness to the white-coated scientist, who was exploring the nasal cavity of the corpse with a metal rod.

The little man stood up as tall as he could, facing Quatre and Barton, nudging his spectacles up his nose. "I am conducting a post-mortem for my company's private use. I trust this will not be of concern to such a generous and well-managed police force such as yourselves.

"Jesus Christ almighty…" sighed Duo, walking towards the scientist again, reaching into his back pockets. He would like nothing better to spin the little fucker around, slam him against the floor and pull his arms behind his back right now, thought Quatre. Not a good plan.

"Mr. Maxwell, I must request that you be calm." Quatre's voice rang out with clear confidence, drawing the attention of the assembled lawyers, officers and coroners to this new character in the unfolding drama of the scene. Duo span round, his finger pointed towards Quatre. His mouth opened, but shut again as he took a deep breath.

"Yes, Mr. Please continue".

Quatre walked over to the scientist, his footsteps against the cold floor breaking the silence in the room. He stood next to him, towering over him and looking down into his eyes, using textbook controlling tactics. Trowa smiled at Duo, who looked back at them, and nodded knowingly.

"I must request that you cease your activities immediately, Mr…?"

"May. Doctor May. This is for our internal enquiry. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave." Duo seethed in the background.

Quatre leant over slowly, turning his head to whisper in Dr. May's left ear. "I must remind you that this is Earth. I have the power to take you down to a cell, where you will spend the night with bread and water in humiliation. Subsequently, you will be tried for Obstructing the Course of Justice, and could face a lengthy prison term. I am sure that it would not be favourable for you and your employers to suffer the public shame of having their top scientist inside."

Duo strained forward. "Can you hear them?" he whispered to Trowa. Trowa nodded.

"Classic. Carefully worded, calm threat, interspersed with a compliment. Supposed to place the subject entirely under your control."

Duo whistled loudly, catching the attention of the people around him. "Man, this pink-shirt's better than he looks, I guess…"

"We'll see" muttered Trowa.


	3. Boardrooms and Bodies

And so the plot thickens…hope you're enjoying it!

CHAPTER 3

Quatre led the small man back to the crowd, and let him be enveloped by his associates. Duo smiled at him thoughtfully. "That was quite something, y'know. Not many people have that kind of skill. You may be a little pink, but you can command, can't you?"

Quatre smiled happily. "I'm glad my hard work has paid off! Is the body identified?"

Duo nodded. "One of the employees identified her as a young Marla Joy. She's not an employee here, apparently she's a –"

"Actually, there were plenty of things wrong with that, and you know it, Duo." snapped Trowa, cutting in. "You're just being overly nice, as usual." chided Barton. Duo grinned foolishly, forgetting his previous subject, and turned to find the coroner, instead ending up nose to nose with a smug-looking blonde lady wearing purple, who eyed him curiously.

"Whoa, where did you come from?" exclaimed Duo, stumbling backwards. The lady was tall, with a long pointed nose, and her eyes seemed to be looking straight past you at a speck on the wall behind you.

"My name is Relena Peacecraft, and I am afraid that it simply will not do to talk to you, sir. I must talk with the liaison and as I have said, this investigation cannot continue without his or her presence." Her voice was loud and self-assured, and her head moved up and down as she spoke, as if to nod in agreement with herself. She stood with aplomb, her back straight and her feet pointing directly forward.

"Yare yare…this is why I called you two losers! She already fucking knows you're here." said Duo, wandering off with a wave of his hand. Quatre stepped in front of Trowa and began to assert his authority.

"My name is Quatre Winner; I am the official liaison for this city with the colonies. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He offered his hand, which was looked at disdainfully.

"I am sorry to report my companies anger over this matter. The conduct of yourself and your officers was most improper." she announced to everyone around her.

"I am sorry to hear that, miss. I am certain that I can resolve any problem you might have. Would you care to describe to me what your problems are? Please remember this is a sensitive case for all concerned." Quatre said all this while keeping his eyes fixed on hers, which still seemed to be elsewhere.

"You have been rude and have overstepped your authority on numerous occasions."

"I apologize for my colleague's brashness. However, your employee was in fact committing a felony and so had to be removed. I trust you noticed that we did not feel the need to take him in for formal questioning."

"I shall be filing a formal complaint, young man. My secretary tells me you live in a small apartment with a young girl. I do hope that your relationship is not improper."

Quatre looked down and dug his fingernails into his palms. He could feel them slide into his flesh, and imagine the little half-moons they would leave behind. Was she threatening him? How could she say such a thing? The mere thought was repulsive, and the idea of it crept from his stomach up to his neck, suffocating him, blocking the air, scratching away to find the ideal height to break free.

"DON'T YOU DARE MAKE ACCUSA-"

"Ah, this is my area of expertise."

Lt. Barton stepped forward, his figure blocking the red-faced, shaking blonde from view.

"I am very sorry; my colleague is not very experienced at his job." Barton looked back at him and clicked his teeth, disdain covering the surface of his eyes. A woman in black behind Relena nodded knowingly, and Relena for the first time let her guard slip slightly, her Romanesque face moving into an expression of concern. This lasted for perhaps half a second before she regained control over her emotions.

"I understand. Perhaps you will listen to my request. We must conduct our own private investigation into this matter, and we cannot be obstructed by you."

"Ms. Peacecraft, we do not wish to obstruct you. While your own investigation is, I'm afraid to say, absolutely impossible considering the circumstances, we will be sure to keep you updated on every development in the case possible. May I take your daytime contact details?"

Relena pondered this, looking at him up and down, taking in him and his offers. She then briskly reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to him between her thumb and forefinger.

"Do not disappoint us." She clicked her fingers, and her entourage snapped shut their briefcases and marched towards the lift.

"Bitch, isn't she?" said Duo, resting his hand heavily on Quatre's shoulder and giving it a light shake. "Don't worry, we all know you're a good guy. Don't let that stuck up cow crawl up your ass. Right, Trowa?" Trowa muttered something about undignified comments before ducking under the yellow tape again. Quatre shook Duo's hand off and rushed to follow him. Duo shrugged and sighed, turning to one of his lackeys behind him.

"Delightful pair, aren't they? Wonderful conversationalists. Now pass me that camera, and let's get this scene wrapped up. Finally!"

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" Quatre ran after Barton, grasping for his shoulder, and turned him around. "Why? Why did you stop me? Why did you patronize me? Why did you lie to her?"

Trowa turned back around and starting ordering around a bewildered photographer. Quatre grabbed him again, more forcefully, and tried to turn him around. He had just been accused of being a paedophile, a god damn paedophile! Why couldn't Barton give him some support?

Barton turned slowly around, and took a deep breath. His finger shot up until it was level with Quatre's eyes, and waggled up and down as he ranted.

"Number one! You are the LIAISON, therefore you must be CALM and FRIENDLY with your subjects. I stopped you from doing a bad job. Number two! You are my subordinate, and what I said was entirely truthful and fully deserved. You should not have let your temper gain control. And Number three, I told her what I needed to say to make her go away faster." He tore up the business card and shoved it in the shirt pocket of a coroner.

Quatre's face drooped, and he began to stare at his shoes. This wasn't going so well, he thought. It's not a good start to get shouted at just after you'd engaged in your first real conversation in your job as a liaison. But Mary, he thought. Mary. He regained control once more and looked Trowa in the eye.

"I am very sorry, sir, please forgive me."

Trowa smiled inside. "Don't worry about it, kid. Now let's get this sorted so we can go home."

Half an hour later they watched as the coroners pushed open the green, swinging, rotting doors with the veiled trolley. They flicked on the light and moved it, like an alien tentacle, over the blanket that concealed the terrible thing on the trolley.

"It hasn't been interfered with?" enquired the coroner to the three officers.

"It has, but I doubt he did much, not enough time. In any case, he was trying to conduct a post mortem himself, so he wouldn't have done anything to contaminate the subject."

"Right. And none of you have weak dispositions?"

Quatre's stomach churned. He had never seen anything like this before, and had always been dreading it. Death was his most constant, greatest fear, and here in the morgue he faced it in its rawest form.

"Sorry I'm late." A bleary-eyed young assistant, straight out of university, walked into the room, red hair draped over her young breasts and blue eyes examining wearily the men in the room. Quatre and Trowa nodded politely to her.

"No problem." The coroner drew back the sheet. There she was again. In this harsh, unrelenting light Quatre could see her features for the first time. Her face was locked in a delirious mingle of passion and fear, both intense emotions, and only her eyes betrayed her soul's departure. They looked upwards in a never-ending stare into the light. Her left breast, so rudely exposed to the world, was shown in the tiniest detail to Quatre now, and his eyes traced it, seeing every tiny hair and every ridge, leading up to its point, majestic yet somehow sad and disappointing. He nearly reached out to tuck it away, to give her back the little dignity she could regain, before noticing again what his mind had blocked: the deep slash, a canyon in the flesh, a perfect man-made wound constructed by hate, in sharp contrast to the femininity and sexuality of the breast itself.

"Clothes." He watched as the assistant calmly slid a knife down the silk dress, spoiling what was once an expensive work of art, and saw how it was carefully pulled out from underneath her. The knife graced her undergarments, and their elastic snapped, springing the areas that few men had seen before into the cutting light, giving the girl her final indignity. Quatre began to turn away, but Trowa grabbed his forearm lightly.

"I'd advise you watch."

"Hmph," snorted the coroner, "Clear bruises around her neck. Looks like she was strangled, possibly during intercourse. Pass me the panties." They were damp, and the smell belied the nature of the liquid.

"As I thought. Now examining lungs."

The knife, not satisfied, pressed down below the neck and cut, pulling apart the flesh like a coat, and the red liquid of life began to seep out. This is wrong, Quatre thought, shaking. She should be laid to rest.

The coroner cut a square, and pinched the skin, pulling the right breast back like a macabre doorway and carefully exposing the ribcage within.

Quatre bolted, out the door, his head screaming and swimming in the pool of blood on the table, his hands clamped over his ears to block out the slick sound of the knife in the flesh. He collapsed onto the bench and began to sob, his cries refusing to penetrate the eerie green of the outside room. He could not tell how long he was there, and the next thing he knew was an arm around his shoulder.

"Training cannot prepare you for that."

Quatre looked up and saw Barton's face, half smiling, his hair swept aside and his eyes meeting his perfectly.

"I'm sorry to put you through that. I didn't know it would be quite so traumatic for you."

Quatre sniffed. "How can they sleep at night, Lt. Barton? That poor girl…she suffers so much, even in death."

He edged closer. "Call me Trowa, okay? We better get you home, it's very late and unlike me you have someone waiting for you."

Quatre smiled at the thought of home, but did not want to move. The arm around him was so heavy, and the weight of it on his shoulders reminded him of his father. Thoughts of the girl were skulking away, and were replaced by Trowa's kind eyes. The air around them grew thick and Quatre wished for the other arm to be around him too, wished to be encased in the sanctuary of the man that sat so close to him. His hand, shaking, moved slowly up to Trowa's face and brushed away a tear that was falling down it.

"God…Quatre…this is the wrong place and the wrong time." He shot up and grabbed his coat, marching out into the cold winter's night.

Duo appeared from the other room. "What got him? C'mon, I'll take you home."

That night Quatre dreamed, and at first Trowa's arm was there, ready to hold and comfort him, but then the hand opened and grabbed the flesh doorway, roughly yanking it, and it tore off in his hand, and there was the ribcage, and Mary was strung to it like a hunted animal, and Quatre did not sleep any more that night.

Whoa! It's late! I hope that wasn't too dark. I'm better at writing dark. Strange, I'm a kinda happy person…I hope you liked it (enjoy would be the wrong word here, ne?). Please review. Bye for now!


End file.
